


The Way Things Are

by Minniemax08



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Eventual relationship, M/M, Murder, Short Chapters, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemax08/pseuds/Minniemax08
Summary: John has always been there, throughout the years.Begins when John is a child, Sherlock is an adult.Eventual relationship, however nothing will happen while John is under the age of seventeen.





	1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock!!!" The childlike voice screeched as footsteps padded down the hall in a flurried fashion. Tiny fists clutching around a small object that had caused such excitement for the little boy. Sherlock had yet to look up from his microscope, his eyes trained on the tiny motions of cells dividing. A slight tugging at his pant leg broke his concentration. He reluctantly pulled his head away from the microscopic spectacle before looking down at his landlady's nephew, his gaze almost clinical, though his eyes betrayed his frustration at being interrupted for the third time that hour.

 

"What?" He snapped. As usual his venomous tone did nothing to deter the boy's enthusiasm.

 

"I found something!" The little boy held up his treasure almost reverently, a small bottle tab that was bent into a rather disfigured ball. Upon closer inspection there was also a tiny piece of string lodged between two metal prongs the tab had created after being rolled into said ball, it was frayed. All in all it was aluminium and microfibres that Sherlock had no interest in whatsoever.

 

"It's a bottle tab." He didn't know why he bothered to elucidate that fact. Pointing out what he saw as obvious never seemed to bother John, it may have even heightened his excitement to a certain extent rather than decrease it. The little boy's facial expressions indicating pride and wonderment  upon discovering  his new found treasure.

 

"I know." He said, "Isn't it beautiful?" Something in John's tone stopped him from saying his next thought aloud. Probably a good thing as it may have caused the boy's sunny demeanour crumble with in seconds.

 

"How is it beautiful?" Sherlock's voice was soft, but a note of confusion weaved it's way through the question.

 

John took a deep breath, before simply saying, "Because, I found it for you."

 

He quickly plopped it onto the erratic man's desk, right next to his microscope and an acid burn, then trotted out of the room. An odd bounce in his step. Sherlock watched the child leave, and just for a second, a tiny moment, he wished that perhaps he could have been nicer to John.

 

A year later his parents were murdered.

 

And John came to live with Mrs. Hudson.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's always one more time. There's always one more time. And if we meet some day, please don't walk away, 'cause there's always one more time.

 

March 18th 2:07pm

 

 

 

"John! Slow down, you'll trip!" He tripped. The bag of groceries he was holding crashing onto the stairs, eggs smashed, leaving a yokey stain on the brown paper bag. An apple rolled down the flight of steps, Mrs. Hudson nearly fell over. John hurt his knee. He didn't cry.

 

Around the same time Sherlock was staring at the ceiling, his sleeve rolled up his arm, small pinpricks in the inside of his arm barely visible  excluding the slight bruising. His face was passive, his eyes glazed over. His head felt foggy.

 

"Oh John, look what you've done." Mrs. Hudson plopped her bags down on the floor surveying the mess in a rather flustered manner. She tried to pick up the grocery bag, getting yolk across her fingers, her eyes watery as she tried to choke back a sob.

 

"Auntie Martha, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." She shook her hand at him, the tears falling freely now as she sat down on one of the steps hunching over slightly. John looked lost.

 

"It's okay John, just give me a minute will you, go play with Sherlock." John nodded before turning and scrambling up the steps to the familiar apartment.

 

"You don't seem to have my groceries." Sherlock didn't even bother turning his head to look at the little boy. Just felt like stating a fact.

 

John bit his lip, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, seeing his hands were still sticky he marched off in the general direction of the bathroom. He had to drag  a stool over to the counter to be able to reach the sink properly. He'd never been very big, even as a baby and that hadn't changed as he grew older, though he was quite thin. John turned on the hot water and glanced in the mirror, big blue eyes staring back at him. His cheeks were flushed slightly as steam floated up into his face. He grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed at his hands roughly before putting it to the side and sticking his hands under the spray and then screaming at the water scalded his delicate skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock heard the scream, falling off the couch in a rather haphazard manner as the sound vibrations reached his ears. He scrambled to his feet, much like the cat that ‘totally meant to do that’ and ran towards the source of the sound.

He stood in the door way, his forehead pressed against the door frame as he took in the scene before him. John had his hand clutched to his chest, little whimpers escaping his mouth as he rocked back and forth on the bathroom floor. Sherlock took a step forward cautiously before crouching down in front of him and held out his hand, wanting to see the damage. He’d already figured out what happened as the tap was still running and the front of the boy’s jumper was wet. Sherlock’s heart was beating very fast, not fast enough to imply an overdose, but it was pretty close. He almost felt compunctious before shaking it off as a symptom of the drug.

John looked at his Aunt’s friend with his big blue tear filled eyes and held out his hand for him, biting his lip softly so he didn’t whimper again, tensing as he waited for the pain that would follow when Sherlock touched his burn. The long fingers felt cool and soothing against his hand. Sherlock turned the boys hand over as gently as possible, his brow knitting together as he inspected the red blistery skin. The water should not have been able to get this hot.

John reached out with his uninjured hands and ran his finger across Sherlock’s forehead, as if trying to smooth out the lines created by worry. Sherlock glanced at him briefly, his expression betraying his confusion yet again at the boy’s actions.

“You looked sad.” Was all he said. And for some reason, that small movement surprised him to know end. He smiled and ruffled John’s dirty blonde hair, before shaking his head and frowning, dropping the boy’s hand as he went to turn off the hot stream of water and turn on the cold tap instead.

“John, can you stand and put your hand under the water?” John obeyed, saying nothing as he stuck his hand under the spray, wincing slightly. Sherlock watched until the burn had changed from an angry crimson to a pale red and nodded.

“Is it all better now?” Sherlock looked down at John, he really was a tiny thing, he thought.

“Not quite, John. But it’ll all be better soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

Maria and Daniel Watson had been rather underwhelming in their parenting skills at the best of times. To be fair they tried, they really did. But Maria realised rather early on that she lacked any sort of maternal instinct towards John, not that he minded. John was the sort of boy that was happy to be left alone to play with his little army figurines and read his story books. 

Daniel went to church every Sunday, though Maria and John stayed home after she claimed the priest had looked at her in an inappropriate fashion. Daniel only went so he could 'chat' with Helen Mikinley after mass. Maria never talked about it, just sat in her chair with a glass of red loosely clasped between her thin bony fingers. Daniel was a lawyer, Maria was a 'house wife'.

They were your average suburban family. With as many secrets and emotional issues as the rest of us. The popular opinion was they didn't deserve to go out the way they did. There was lots of blood. Maria's ring finger was never fully recovered, then again, neither was her entire right hand. But that wasn't what had sparked Sherlock's interest. Nor the lack of evidence. It was the simple fact that their death had caused John pain. And for some odd reason, he wasn't fond of that thought at all.


	5. Chapter 5

He went to school. Of course he did. It wasn't a big place, but it seemed like that to him. Big stones, big shoes, big steps, big faces, and lots of big teeth. Maybe they were are descendants of demons, he thought. Demons that bit the flesh and chomped it without closing their mouths just because they could. He didn't make many friends, though he was always perfectly polite. He heard the teachers whispering that maybe that was his problem. After the unfortunate mishap as everyone seemed to refer to it as, he didn't feel like going back. But it wasn't his decision, apparently not much was at his age. He could decide how to tie his shoe laces as long as they stayed tied, he could decide what he ate, if it was relatively healthy and he ate the appropriate amount with a decent quantity of decorum, and he could chose whether to wash with sponge or flannel. Minor decisions, that had little impact on the world and its working, on the people around and of course himself. Little acts of control in a small unravelling life. After all, what was life without control, and what was life without chaos. But chaos could be controlled with the right degree of intelligence, it could be manufactured and bent and sent in a certain direction. That's how Sherlock survived, and he did it brilliantly.

John however, liked school. And chaos was certainly a bit too 'chaos-y' for him. He didn't think much about demons, and if somebody had big teeth, well, who was he to comment on the unfortunate gamble that is genetics. He did his work, albeit it with less enthusiasm after his parent's murder. That's what it was, and while adults tended to bumble about on the topic, the children certainly weren't scared to ask questions, he answered quite a few the first day he went back. And a little less the next. After the first week the buzz died down. Nobody commented on his hand. They all wanted to know about the things children were meant to be sheltered from. Evil and blood and death. But they were children, and they ended up scaring themselves with their own theories on how it happened. The teachers were rather unsure as to who first told them about it in the first place. And they didn't intervene until the second week, but as stated previously, it was already beginning to become old news. John did alright in school, progressed a little faster than the rest, but not so much so that he was an outcast. Even at a young age he had the ability to get on with just about everyone. But that was just for a year, then Sherlock decided to do something so stupid, because he was Sherlock and while he thought himself intelligent, that's who he was. What he was. Stupid. Well and truly.


End file.
